


aubade for an american boy

by anillegiblemess



Series: KIN SHIT [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1960s, Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Cold War, Depression (implied), Dissociative Identity Disorder (implied), Drug Use, Historical References, M/M, Marijuana, Mental Health Issues, One Night Stands, Sexual Content, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 23:23:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6587338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anillegiblemess/pseuds/anillegiblemess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>aubade<br/>noun | \ō-ˈbäd\<br/>1. a song or poem greeting the dawn<br/>2. a: a morning love song<br/>b: a song or poem of lovers parting at dawn</p>
            </blockquote>





	aubade for an american boy

**Author's Note:**

> i started this a couple weeks ago. found it in my google drive as the title "aaaaaaaa" and i was so confused i had to look at it and then i reread it and decided fuck it i'll finish it. so here it is.
> 
> this piece is... kinda personal?? i dont really wanna talk much about it but yeah. a lot of the shit russia goes through in this i feel. idk... i'll stop whining
> 
> ITS ALSO KINDA BASED ON AN AUBADE POEM I WROTE WITH THE SAME TITLE OOPS.
> 
> also russia is a trans man fucking deal with it.

And it was here in his apartment when you realized this was more than what you felt. The years of shielding emotions behind small smiles and hiding blushes in your hands all felt pointless in this moment. He had loved you too, all these years. You wondered why you didn’t realize it sooner.

After dancing in the streets, the night skies darkened further with rain clouds. When it began to rain, you both splashed through puddles, water sinking cold into your shoes, to his apartment. You both placed your wet shoes on the radiator in the living room, sat down on the couch. He pressed a cold bottle of Coke in your palms, got to work rolling a joint. The both of you took turns taking hits. You lied to him when you said it wasn’t your first time smoking. He laughed when the smoke got caught in your lungs and you coughed and coughed. Then he kissed you. And kept kissing you.

Perhaps it was the effects of the drug that swam through your bloodstream, but in this moment you didn’t care. You wanted to be swept away by him. As he kissed you hard, you watched the leftover smoke swirl around the room, dissipate like ghosts into nothingness. You closed your eyes when you felt his strong arms pick you up gingerly and carry you away into his bedroom. In the dim lamplight you made out empty beer and soda bottles, posters of American bands littered clumsily across the wall. He is above you watching you. Your whole body turns red and you look away. Was it embarrassment? Was it shame? You didn’t tell him about your breasts, parts on your body that reminded you you weren’t really a man. He reaches for your shirt and you flinch, holding it. He looks at you, confused. His eyes are bloodshot in his high, eyelids droopy. You wonder if you look the same. 

He grabs your wrists, still looking at you. Does he know? Carefully, cautiously, you take off your shirt and remove the Ace bandages suffocating your chest, presenting your broken ribs, scars from attempted self-surgery. He doesn’t question anything. He looks somber for a second, then leans down and kisses your scars, the bruised skin and crooked bones sticking out like weeds in snow. He traces his calloused fingers over the other scars that mar your skin. You feel tears pile up in the corners of your eyes. You try to convince yourself to stop crying. This isn’t the time for antics like that. It’s too late; he notices the water running down your cheeks. Reaching his thumb to your face, he wipes the tears away. He shushes you, whispers in your ear with his hoarse, gritty voice that you’re okay. You’re safe here. No one can harm you anymore. You push your face into the crook of his neck, drink in the earthy scent of smoke on his skin. He pulls away, goes down to your stomach. He pinches the fat, squeezes your stretch marks, moves his hands over the soft peach fuzz that trails from your navel down. He kisses you just underneath your bellybutton. It tickles. You smile, grab at his hair and cheeks. He looks up at you, smiling. He takes off his glasses, then his shirt. The dog tags around his neck remain nestled near his collarbone. His muscles stand out even in the soft, warm light. You take a minute to appreciate his body; a body you long to own yourself as he removes your pants.

It’s here at this point when you close your eyes, focus on the other sensory details of this moment. The room smells dank, full of musk. You wonder if it’s from the smoke or the fact that he probably hadn’t cleaned his room in months. When he touches you, you gasp embarrassingly. No one had ever touched you like this before. No one had ever even looked at your body like this before. His free hand cups your cheeks and you press into the warmth on his palm, nestling into it. You hear the unzipping of pants, the shuffle they make as they fall into a heap on the dirty carpet. He pushes back the strands of hair covering your face. You still don’t open your eyes. His fingers move inside you. You grasp at the bedsheets below you, push your face as far into the pillow as you can. All the blood in your body has probably rushed to your cheeks. You must be burning red. His hands feel colder than your skin as he places his palms on your cheek again. He leans down and you pull away from the pillow to meet him as he kisses you, passionate. You have refrained from making any noises since the first initial gasp. Your breath is heavy, you hold back any sort of moan or whine. It’ll only embarrass you further. 

He pulls his fingers out of you, hoists your hips up. You can feel him staring at you, asking quietly if he could continue on. You open your eyes, just a sliver, see his baby blue eyes looking down at you, full of adoration. Pink tinges his cheeks. You nod, squeeze your eyes shut again as he enters you. You bite your lips. You feel everything, every movement. His hands lock with yours, he kisses you all over. The high has made you tired, your mouth dry. The room is hot, humid, the condensation sinks into your skin. The warmth takes you over. Above you, his breath is hushed but ravenous, smoke filled lungs heaving. The dog tags clink softly together. Your free hand finds itself on the small of his back, tickling the ragged scar that crisscrosses horizontally around. When he flinches you draw away, but he relaxes again and you find yourself back at it, roaming your fingers around his canvas of skin, mapping out each and every dent and mark. Even though your eyes are closed, he is still beautiful. 

His free hand cups your face once more. _Open your eyes._ His voice is slurred and rough with tiredness. You shake your head, scrunch up your face. You feel yourself grow hotter. You want to say it’s weird but at the same time you also want to call yourself weird for acting this way. _It’s okay, baby._ He whispers. His Southern twang comes out in small hints when he calls you baby. It’s cute. He’s cute. He’s fucking adorable, goddammit. You open your eyes. The overhead lamp creates a halo around his sandy blond hair, messed up and full of frizz from humidity. A bead of sweat collects and falls from his brow. His freckle dappled shoulders and face are shaded red. He smiles sweetly, childishly, breathes out a giggle as you smile back with a goofy grin. You can’t remember the last time you smiled showing your teeth. _God, you’re beautiful._ He tells you. You feel your eyes watering again. You mutter that he is too, but it goes unheard. He sinks into you, nipping at your neck, thrusting deep into you. You want to describe the feeling but words are hard to come by in your fogged brain. Your spine curls and lifts up from the bed beneath you, your voice becoming harder and harder to hold back. 

He seems to know of your forced silence. Again, in that honeysuckle voice of his he whispers, _Sing to me, baby._ You don’t sing, hell, you don’t even moan, surprisingly. The words come tumbling out in a mantra before you can realize they’re leaving your mouth. I love you, Alfred, I love you so much. Please don’t forget about me, Alfred, don’t leave me alone. 

His hands wrap around your fingers and he squeezes them. _I’ll never forget you, I promise._ His voice coaxes you, heals you. His voice is like medicine to you. You want him to continue speaking, to continue to tell you how much you matter to him, how much he loves you. You squeeze his hands back. Your legs begin to quiver and your moans come hushed but audible as you reach your climax. There is a buzz in your brain, your heart hammers relentlessly against your chest. You wonder if he can hear it. Sweat is dripping from the underside of your calves and thighs. Your orgasm is sharp and strong. It tears into you, leaving you breathless and your voice gone. 

He comes inside you quietly, not uttering a single peep. He collapses on top of you, breathing heavy and panting. He is caked in sweat, skin glistening. You shudder violently against him as the waves of pleasure wear off and you are left cold and covered in perspiration. He notices this, and his arms, though weak from his own climax, hold onto your shoulders. He slips out of you gently and rolls over, hoisting your head on his chest. Your arms instinctively wrap around his midsection and you nestle into him, still shaking. He combs his fingers through your greasy hair, and you cling to him desperately like a child does to his mother. You do not want this to end. You look around at the dimly lit room, watching the shadows dance. You look at his figure, already asleep and snoring, naked and beautiful. You find yourself smiling again but it fades as you remember you have duties to attend to. Your boss would surely kill you when you come back and he finds out where you were and who you were with. You were supposed to be enemies with this American boy. You told no one, not even your sisters, when you slipped off to visit him, crossing borders illegally only to get high with him and let him fuck you. Now, you can feel his cum dripping out of you, escaping between your legs, still warm and sticky. A side of yourself is disgusted. You want to cry. You can’t let that side take over; not here, not now. 

So, you take a deep breath and continue to stare at his gentle face. His skin is tanned, sunkissed and soft. His freckles are like stars, standing out and burning bright. His cowlick moves as he breathes, waving at you. His hand is still stuck in your hair. You reach over and touch his velvet soft lips with your fingers, not being able to resist the temptation. His azure eyes blink open and he looks at you. You almost apologize before he smiles, turns onto his side to face you and holds you closer, kissing your forehead. _Go to sleep._

His breathing shallows as he falls back into dreams. You smile against his chest, rub his arms and let the drugs that still course in your bloodstream to take you over and numb you, lethargic. For the first time in your life, you do not dream. It is peaceful. God, for the first time, it is finally peaceful.

***

When you wake up, you are facing his back, arms still wrapped around his torso. Milky sunlight leaks through the white lace curtains and showers his skin in gold. The room still smells musty and the smoke from last night seems to have been left at a standstill, the scent lingering in your nose. You’re groggy and as you look over the body of the naked man sleeping beside you, you realize the weight of what you had done. It punches you in the stomach, leaves you nauseous and dizzy. Blindly, you stumble out of the bed towards the connected bathroom and retch into the toilet bowl, emptying your insides. Your hands quake as you heave, tears streaming down your cheeks and into your lips, mixing with the bile caught in your throat. You sob, voice echoing around the tiled walls. In the bedroom, he wakes from the noise and you hear him shuffle around before entering calmly, kneeling down beside you as you hack up spit and whatever’s left in you. You lean your head on the icy porcelain as he rubs circles on your back and leans you into him, mouth close to your ears and shushing you. You felt like a child. You hated feeling like a child. An impulse reaches its claws inside you, and the other side takes over. You snap, turning around and protesting against his touch, screaming curses at him in Russian. He sits calm and still as a statue, eyes closed, taking the blows as you pound weakly on his chest with your balled up fists. The impulse yanks at you, stronger this time, the other side grips tight and pulls at your hair.

You slap him hard across the cheek. He stumbles over onto his side, eyes still closed but in a grimace this time. He places his hand on the cheek you slapped, already swelling, red spreading across delicate pink. Breathing heavy and clenching your teeth, you realize what had just happened and become a blubbering mess once more, globs of tears leaking from your eyes. You come over and hoist him back up, repeating apologies under your breath, saying that you didn’t mean it, pleading to him to stay, mumbling I love you’s. He accepts your embrace and with his own arms holds you close to him as you weep on his shoulder. He is quiet as you continue to blather nonsense and pity, until you finally calm down enough, swallowing your tears and hiccuping. 

As you lay still, holding onto him, he rocks you back and forth, petting your hair. You start to talk again, quiet, words jumbled and abstract. I don’t want to forget you again. I don’t want to leave you again. I want to be with you forever. 

He shakes his head no. You know this means that you’ll have to part ways once more. You have to leave him behind. Your chest begins to hurt. You feel like you’re being slowly set on fire.

 _You won’t forget about me, baby, I know it. I won’t forget you either._ His voice sounds tired and listless. His Southern twang is more pronounced. You look up at him. He smiles at you, his cheek puffy and burning red. You reach up and kiss his hurt cheek. When you draw back, he takes his arms away and draws his fingers around the dog tags still on his neck. He draws the necklace over his head and then places it over yours. The dog tags make a new home in the crook of your collarbone. You touch them. They are still warm from his body heat. You look up at him and smile, thanking him for his gift silently. 

The two of you stay wrapped up together for what seems like an hour before he turns his head away from you, looks towards the bathroom door. You should go. No more words need to be exchanged. You don’t even protest as you both stand and walk into the bedroom. You gather your clothes and put them on, wrapping your Ace Bandage around your chest. It felt tighter than usual. You shrug off your discomfort and put the rest of your clothes and shoes on, tucking the dog tags underneath your shirt. 

He also puts his clothes on, lighting a cigarette and smoking it. You walk out of the bedroom and into the living room, hands gripping the doorknob. Before you turn and walk away, his hands are at your shoulders. You turn around and he meets you in a clumsy kiss, teeth clacking together, tobacco taste strong on his tongue. A part of you felt that this was the last kiss you’d ever share with him. You savored it. You kept it in your memory. You kept the entirety of the night in your memory. You wouldn’t forget this, you knew. 

When you both break away, a chill settles in your bones like frostbite trailing up your fingers. You look at him wistfully, achingly. You can’t take the pain anymore. You turn around, turn the doorknob and walk away. The door slams shut behind you. As you stand in the silence of the hallway, you hear him crying. You close your eyes tight until you see colors flash behind your eyelids, and you run down the hallway, run down the staircase, run outside and down the street. 

A couple blocks away, you finally break and keel over on the brick wall of another apartment building. You slide down onto the dirty, cracked concrete and cry into your hands, biting back screams. The other side finds its advantage. It shoves its fingers down your throat and crawls into your skin, overtaking your body. You stop crying and hoist yourself up, straightening yourself out. You walk without another stumble away into the dawn. Eventually, you’re gone.

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
